


That strange observation

by cuneifire (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Lawyers, M/M, Military, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cuneifire
Summary: Five years ago, Alfred left to fight in the war.He came back.That’s the funny thing about war; It makes you question what you have.(In which Alfred is a soldier, Arthur is his best friend, and absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder)





	That strange observation

Arthur has known him all his life.

It’s not a declaration of any sort, or at least he’d deny it so; it’s a statement, simple as that. Arthur Kirkland has known Alfred Jones all his life, rain is wet, the moon is far but the sun is farther. 

Simple. 

Until, one day, it’s not. 

“Arthur,” he’s saying, camouflage uniform and a bright wide smile. “I’m leaving.”

“For what?” Arthur replies, and he knows how Alfred will take it but that’s not the question he’s asking. What Alfred hears is “what cause are you parting for” What Arthur’s asking is this;  _ why are you leaving me? _

Miscommunication is as much their language as English itself, which they can’t even seem to agree on regardless. 

Alfred smiles, unceremoniously pulling Arthur from his thoughts with how bright his eyes seem to shine in this particular light. “To join the army, of course!” He says with a faux smile and overconfident bravado that Arthur loves to mock him for. 

(Secretly, he’s always adored it.)

It feels like Arthur is looking at him through a one-way mirror. He’s so  _ happy,  _ how could he be, it was unfair in every sense of the word,  _ Alfred has no right to do this to him and- _

Arthur nods, swallowing. 

“Good luck.” He says, and that’s it, no  _ I’ve been in love with you since we were fourteen,  _ no  _ please don’t die,  _ no grand kiss or anything but Alfred’s too wide smile and beautiful eyes the colour of the sky he was so determined to fly in.

But then Alfred’s saying goodbye and Arthur’s terrified he’ll never see his annoying, bravado filled, overconfident beautiful patriotic mess of a best friend-turned-wishes-at-night-for-something-more, and his legs are moving without his permission and suddenly he’s pulled Alfred into a choking hug. 

‘I love you,” he mouths into the fabric of Alfred’s jacket; it smells like new clothes and that ridiculously terrible cologne he always insists on wearing. 

Alfred’s staring at him when he pulls away, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, cheeks red. 

_ God, why had he done that? _

“What are you staring at, you giant ninny?” Arthur snaps, feeling as though someone had just smashed him into tiny broken pieces and one by one pieced apart every fragile little crack.

Alfred visibly swallows, taking a second too long to pull himself together and meet Arthur’s eyes. 

“I- you-” he’s stuttering over. Arthur rolls his eyes, trying to pull himself together.

“Get out there and do yourself proud,” Arthur says, forcing a smile onto his face, if only for Alfred’s sake. He doesn’t say  _ do this country proud,  _ because America is not truly his country, nor does he say  _ do me proud.  _ Although that, he can’t quite explain. 

Alfred is visibly on the verge of saying something, but Arthur is about to collapse into tears and he knows if that happens he  _ will _ confess and then Alfred will go to the army knowing that  _ this _ \- this rotten type of thing that Arthur can’t stop thinking about, about kissing him, pressing their lips together, god they’re so close right now-

He slams his teeth down on the inside of his lip, blood leaking into his mouth and tasting bitter. 

Alfred would be disgusted.  _ Arthur  _ is disgusted, there’s no point in shoving that shameful burden onto him too. He doubts Alfred would ever talk to him again.

At least this way they’ll still have letters.

And so Alfred leaves, and Arthur shuts the door and collapses behind it, shoving the palms of his hands into his damp eyes and wondering simultaneously what’s wrong with him and why his best friend had to volunteer to risk death for a pointless war.

.

There are indeed letters, abbreviated and pointlessly optimistic. But still Arthur reads them. By the time three years pass, he has an entire box.

The letter currently in his hand is stained- in grime or dirt or blood, he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter because it’s  _ Alfred,  _ the only person in the world he’d ever called his best friend, because if he reads them enough it almost seems like Alfred might actually make it out of this stupid fucking war alive. 

_ Hey Arthur! _

_ I’m writing this in pen now because I  _ <strike> _ have to tell you _ </strike> _ kind of lost my pencil the other day, and the only real other option was fingerpainting, so sorry about that.  _

_ Anyways, things are going pretty well. Vietnam’s surprisingly pretty (although the communists aren’t), my gun is still working (I was kind of worried when it almost broke down a while ago; that thing’s been with me this whole time, y’know, don’t know what I’d do without it), John found a mouse and decided to feed it (everyone else thought it was stupid, don’t tell anyone but I kind of decided to help him.)  _

_<strike>I miss y</strike> __Sorry this thing’s so long, I haven’t seen you in forever. __i<strike>m not kidding i really m</strike>__ How’s it going? Is the law degree going alright? _<strike>_y’know, i always thought you should’ve been in the navy. There’s nothing you love more than ships. You’d be great at it. And then you’d be in the navy and i could see you and maybe everything wouldn’t hurt so mu- _</strike>_You met a girl yet? __I<strike>’d be really happy for you if yo</strike>__The guys all have girls at home they’re_ _sending letters too. Not me though. _<strike>_Ive got yo_</strike>

_ Sorry there’s so many scribbles. We kind of ran out of paper from having nothing else to feed the mouse. Uh, sorry.  _ <strike> _ things are kind of bad these days _ </strike>

_Write me back when you can. I know a lot of the letters don’t get through but _<strike>_i really wanna hear your voice again_</strike>_i<strike>m sick of hearing it in my head</strike>_<strike>_i miss hearing from you_</strike> _<strike>i</strike>t’d be nice to know how you’re doing. _

<strike> _ love _ _ _ </strike>

_ -Alfred. _

Plenty of ink blots and scribbles out the little notes, runs on sentences Arthur knows Alfred is apt to when speaking in person. But Arthur supposes it’s fine. Likely nothing important. 

He hopes Alfred is as alright as he claims to be, but he’s always been terrible at lying to himself. 

_ . _

The truly hilarious thing is, Alfred does come back.

It’s five o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and Arthur is pouring over the case at hand, trying to figure out the most suitable way he can phrase his client’s accusation of fraud, so the defendant knows  _ precisely  _ what he’s insinuating but the judge doesn’t. 

There’s a ring at the doorbell, to which Arthur just shakes his head, hoping his secretary will just get it and it’s not a subordinate who requires his immediate attention in filing one of their less important cases. 

He continues to ignore the ringing, until it eventually stops and he thanks God for Maria. How many idiots with the wrong address that woman had saved him from encountering, he couldn’t count.

That is, until there’s a knock at his office door.

“What  _ is  _ it?” He hisses through gritted teeth, gripping his pen tightly and glaring at the door. He had to finish this by tomorrow, it was  _ late,  _ there were fifteen thousand dollars on the line here, he had a damned  _ reputation  _ to uphold-

“It’s someone who claims to know you, Mr. Kirkland.”

“A lot of people claim to know me.” He grumbles, rolling his eyes. 

“Sir, he says he really-” Maria starts, but Arthur doesn’t even hear the rest of her sentence. 

“Arthur?” 

Immediately, he freezes. He  _ knows _ that voice. 

He hasn’t heard that voice in five years.

“Mr. Kirkland?” Maria asks again, and he can’t make himself tell her off.

“Let him in.” Is instead what he says, and curses his own very name. He thought he’d gotten over this- this building pressure and shortness of breath whenever he thought of Alfred, or how he’d think of his best friend being dead and suddenly forget to breathe. He’d even stopped having dreams about him, recently. 

_ Mostly, at least,  _ he thought, paralyzed as the door creaked open and muddy footprint tack all over his pristine floors. 

His keeps his eyes fixed on Alfred’s boots as the other man walks in, heart palpitating.

“Alfred-” he says, and suddenly Alfred in kneeling on his floor,  _ it resembles a marriage proposal just a bit- _

“Uh, hey-” is all he gets out before Arthur ditches his chair and throws his arms around Alfred’s shoulders, tackling him down and pinning him to the floor, limbs tangling in a way that is likely unprofessional but fuck it Arthur doesn’t care he hasn’t felt like this in five years and god he just could kiss him right now-

“I love you” he’s saying, pressing his face in Alfred’s shoulder and crushing them together in a way that reminds him of five years ago except this time it’s not saying goodbye but  _ hello. _

It takes a few seconds to realise what he’s just said. 

And then that joy fractures into a million little pieces with what he knows will happen when he pulls away. 

He does anyways, because he’s always been good at doing things that make him miserable. 

Alfred is staring at him in a fashion almost exactly the same as five years ago; jaw hanging open, eyes wide, cheeks an embarrassed shade of red. But this time there’s a scar over his neck and his blue eyes are rimmed with dark under circles, and his ever-present smile seems less bright.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that-” Arthur’s stumbling for words, god, he’s spent the last five years learning to use words as weapons, how is it that one blithering idiot can reduce him to speechlessness-

_ But it’s not just some blithering idiot,  _ his mind insists on reminding him.  _ He’s Alfred.  _ Arthur’s blithering idiot. 

“I- I wanted to say-” Alfred is saying, and Arthur can’t meet his eyes.

And everything from the last five, hell from the last nine, twenty-three, years is piling up in Arthur’s mind, from the first time he met Alfred to the years they’d spent playing ridiculous childish games, the amount of times they had stayed at each other’s houses and the first time of many where Arthur had been lying awake at some ungodly hour of the morning and he’d looked over at Alfred sleeping beside him and thought to himself  _ god he’s beautiful  _ and how many times he’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him, the last time he’d seen him before now and how amazing holding him close and telling him the truth had been and-

“Alfred I lied-” he’s saying breathlessly. And in that moment he isn’t thinking of disgust or the consequence or  _ anything, _ really but-

“-I came to tell you that I’m in love with you,” Alfred says.

_ What?  _

Arthur stares at him with open bewilderment. 

“Well, actually I was going to go to your house, but you weren’t there, and I wasn’t really planning to tell you I’m in love with you, per se, but uh- can we sit up?”

And Arthur’s so damned stupefied that he  _ does _ , sits down on the hard wooden floor and stares into bright blue eyes he hasn’t seen in half a decade.

Alfred is breathing heavy, eyes downcast when he starts speaking. 

“I.” He starts simply, taking in a deep breath. “I’vekindofbeeninlovewithyou since we were fifteen.” His gaze flashes up, hand jerking forwards as if to clasp Arthur’s wrist. 

“Please don’t leave.” He says, voice pleading, and Arthur thinks that’s ridiculous, there’s not a single reason he would.

“And I- I know you think that’s- uh- I’m sorry Arthur it’s just that we’d be in the war and all the other guys kept talking about their girls back home and, all I could think of was you and how I should’ve said a better goodbye, and I just, it’s just-” he stutters a bit. Before, Alfred was always so confident. Arthur supposes he’s changed. 

“I do love you, Alfred,” Arthur says.

He watches Alfred’s gaze come up to him, a small mumbled “really?”.

“Yes, you idiot, I just told you that. Have you no sense of hearing?” He snaps, unable to keep the frustration from his words, but it’s nowhere near as sharp as it should be.

Alfred just smiles weakly. “You know me, Arthur.” He says, and it’s like falling in love all over again. 

“But I-” Alfred continues, breaking the moment. “I don’t think I can-” his hand pauses over Arthur’s wrist, knuckles white and grip tight. 

“Is it okay if we wait a bit?” He bites his lip as he says it. “I mean, you’ll always be my best guy, ever, it’s just we haven’t talked in five years and I-” his voice drops an octave. “I’m worried you won’t like me now.”

Arthur stares, speechless.

“Alfred.” He says, leaning forward to take Alfred’s hand-

“The things I saw, Arthur. I-” he chokes up, before blinking rapidly and forcing himself to continue. “I’m so glad it wasn’t you.” 

Arthur stares at him.

“You are an idiot.” He proclaims, pressing a finger to Alfred’s chin and forcing the other man to meet his gaze. 

“Alfred F. Jones, I have loved you, in one way or another, for my whole life, and I do not plan on stopping. The world be damned, that fucking war be damned- everything. And if I have to wait for you- fuck it, I’ve waited five years, I’ll wait my entire life if I fucking have to.”

He can see the tension leave Alfred’s posture, just a bit-  _ god, what did they put him through _ \- and in that moment Arthur swears that if Alfred ever wants it he’ll always be there to listen.

“If you need help- we could go to a- someone who-”

Alfred nods, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, I think… I think I might need that.” He says, slowly. 

Arthur meets his gaze, trying and failing to convey all the emotions pressing up in his throat in one singular look.  _ I’ll be there for you _ , at least, he hopes, gets through.

Alfred, despite his unusual capacity for obliviousness, understands, gripping Arthur’s hand tightly. 

“But for now- can I give you a hug?” He says tenuously, just meeting Arthur’s gaze. 

At Arthur’s quizzical regard, he says “I mean, it was always you who did the hugging, and it sort of surprised me, because I always thought I was brave but I couldn’t even give my best friend a hug-”

“You’re easily the bravest person I’ve met, and you should bloody well shut it with that absolute nonsense,” Arthur says, leaning forwards.

At this, Alfred’s lips quirk up into a smile- a real one, not that boisterous one he always wears when he’s trying to impress everyone.

“So can I…” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, incapable of keeping himself from smiling. 

“Of course, you giant dolt.” He says, and feels his heart warm at Alfred’s grin.

He takes Arthur into his arms, and just for that moment, everything’s perfect.


End file.
